Reality Isn't Everything
by fanspired
Summary: One shot shmoop, because I needed it.  And I'm guessing I'm not the only one.


Sam gazed up at the grass stem, following its length from where it left his lips to where it waved above his head, the flower bobbing backwards and forwards in the warm breeze. He slid an arm under his head and closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the breeze dancing over his chest and abs. Crickets were chirruping in the grass and birds sang from the nearby trees, their gentle chorus providing the soundtrack for the peace. He could hear the muted chords of a rock track, too, issuing from the Impala. It didn't bother him. It was a reassuring background hum. Dean heard it the other way round, of course; his focus was the music, and the crickets didn't bother him.

Sam could hear him cursing from under the hood and smiled. He knew Dean wasn't happy unless he had a reason to say "son of a bitch" at least once a week. Sam let the grass stem drop from his mouth and drew in a deep breath, allowing the air to fill his lungs and the smell of ripe barley to fill his nostrils then he exhaled in a long soft sigh. There'd been times in the past when he'd forgotten to breathe. Sometimes there literally wasn't time. Now they had all the time in the world. Literally.

The grumbling continued as Sam sat up and poured himself a glass of wine. "Leave it, Dean," he suggested. "You can do it later."

Dean's oil smeared face emerged from under the hood. "Missing my company, Sammy?"

Sam said nothing but smiled and offered Dean a beer. He took it and dropped down beside him on the blanket.

"Is there any of that pie left?"

"Of course." Why did he still keep asking that? "There's always pie." Sam lifted the plate from the hamper and handed it to his brother who ate, always, as if it was his first slice in months and might be his last.

"I can't figure out what's causing the knocking," Dean complained.

"You will," Sam reassured him as he sipped leisurely from the crystal. "You always do. You know it's only there to give you something to fix."

"It's never the same thing that causes it," Dean observed. "It's ingenious, really. Do you think they'll be able to keep thinking up new stuff forever?"

Sam grinned. "Forever's the name of the game."

Dean laughed. "I guess so." His gaze wandered appreciatively over Sam's bare chest. Sam pretended not to notice, but a pleasant thrill skittered through his flesh as Dean's fingers traced lightly over his shoulders and back. "I was thinking we might invite everyone over to our place for a barbecue this weekend," he said.

"Everyone?"

"Sure, why not?" Dean insisted. "Mom, Dad and Bobby'll help out. Cas, too. And it's not like we don't have the room." He laughed.

"OK," Sam agreed, but he knew it would raise questions. It always did. Dean always wanted the impossible, and then he was puzzled when he got it.

"How does that work, Sam?"

_Here we go._ "How does what work?"

"Well . . . Karen, Ellen and Jody, for instance, all in the same room, and nobody bitches. How does that work?"

"Same as Jessica and Maddison, I guess . . . or Cassie, Jo and Lisa."

"And that doesn't freak you out?"

"Not really. Does it you?"

"I guess not." He tossed his head and the corners of his lips twitched into a tiny smirk. "It just freaks me out that it doesn't freak me out."

Why did he always have to poke the bear? Maybe he needed to be like that. Maybe he wouldn't be Dean otherwise. Maybe _Sam_ needed him to be like that.

Sam rested his head against Dean's chest and listened to the steady pump of his brother's heartbeat. "Did you ever think we'd get here?" he asked.

"Not in a million," Dean admitted. "Not together anyway. I always figured if we wound up together it'd be . . ." He hesitated. You didn't say the word. Not here. ". . . someplace else."

There was a strange silence and it made Sam look up. When he looked at Dean's face he saw a slight frown troubling his forehead and it bothered Sam vaguely. That wasn't supposed to happen here.

"You know this isn't real? Right, Sam?"

Dean's eyes were wide and serious and, for the first time in an age, Sam felt something approaching actual sadness. Trust Dean to want that. It was the one impossible thing even Heaven couldn't give him. He turned and laid a gentle hand against his brother's face, holding his eyes with his own

"Dean," he whispered, "Reality isn't everything."

And then Sam kissed him. And, after a moment, Dean kissed him back.


End file.
